


Redemption

by in_libris_libertas (nobodyyoudknow)



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canon Relationships are Mentioned but not the Focus, Canon Universe, Depression, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Connor AU, Intrusive Thoughts, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, Repairing Relationships, Self-Hatred, Stay Safe!, Swearing, Warnings also Posted for Every Chapter, all the feels, also a look into everyone's problems and how they cope, follows the events of the musical, lol this has turned out probably way too slow and way too long, mostly Connor's POV, my ghost boi is chillin in the afterlife watching the musical crapshow go down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodyyoudknow/pseuds/in_libris_libertas
Summary: Just because Connor is dead in the musical, it doesn't mean he was never there. This story follows the events of the musical through Connor's perspective after his death.





	1. Mostly Not Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Hope you enjoy this story so far. More to come soon but I don't have a set plan for updates or total chapters yet. For now, you're welcome along for the ride. I always welcome comments and corrections. Unbetaed.
> 
> Quick blurb that DEH deals with some pretty heavy mental and emotional topics so this fic will too. I want to do my part in keeping anyone who may be sensitive to topics like suicide, depression and anxiety safe so I will always include chapter warnings. TO READERS PLEASE ALWAYS STAY SAFE WHILE READING!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is a ghost. What Letter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the angst yall.
> 
> Warnings this Chapter for: mentions of suicide, depressive thoughts, and secondary emotional and situational effects after suicide

 

Connor Murphy lies on his bed and stares out the window as he procrastinates facing the reality of the day ahead of him. Not for the first time, he wishes desperately that he had his phone with him to listen to music or to scroll through stupid internet quizzes or to do anything to somehow distract himself from nothing. Instead he mindlessly busies himself with looking through the window, mentally cataloguing the people who walk by below his second story room. 

A few of the passerbys are still buzzing with life—an annoyingly healthy jogger who is running with a one foot normal, one foot tip-toe stride to avoid tripping over the shoelace she should’ve just stopped and tied, a disheveled mail carrier who is definitely sporting mud stained paw prints on the legs of his khakis and on his messenger bag, and a student who is probably late to school given his quick shuffle and awkward partially upturned polo collar.

A few others milling around catch Connor’s eye too, but these people are different. They look like they’ve been tinged in a dingy grey and are nearly transparent. He still gets the impression that they aren’t eerily real, that what he sees must be fake, but he knows better now after the past few days here in whatever the hell this place is. Pulling his arm out from where it was propped to support his head as he lies on his side, Connor lets his neck sink back towards the mattress and stares distantly at his own grey tinged hand.

 _It’s really fucking perfect_ , Connor thinks to himself. _I off myself just to get stuck here._

Footsteps that stop in the hallway pull Connor from his self-depreciating thoughts and make him glance over his shoulder to focus on the figure outside his door. Zoe stands there in her pajamas still a little dazed from forcing herself out of bed. She is partially turned away from him, hesitantly eyeing the room with an unplaceable expression. Her gaze drifts across the room, piercing Connor as it passes before she drops her eyes to the floor and forces herself to continue walking down the hall to the bathroom all without acknowledging him.

_Not like she would’ve said anything if I was actually here anyway._

Its Friday morning, but Zoe will probably just stay home today even if she won’t be doing anything here. No one is going to scold her for missing school this week. And Connor can hardly blame her for taking the opportunity to skip. School for Connor had always been enduring the torture of sitting through lessons pinned under some crabby teacher’s disappointed glare and walking through hallways filled with too many eyes and sitting through lunches where he tried to block out the whispers of “ _Freak_ ” through his earbuds and pulled up jacket hood. So at least one good thing so far about being dead so far in Connor's opinion is that no one has busted either of the Murphy siblings for being truant. And since Connor isn’t stuck at school, here in his room he only has to deal with the noise from his own fucked up head.

A minute later, Zoe softly walks back down the hallway closing her bedroom door a bit too hard to no doubt go crawl back into bed. She’s slept in late every day this week. But Connor doubts his sister is actually mourning him. The solemn look that has become plastered on her face this week looks less sad and more like it is fed from a deep simmering anger. He thinks she probably is just trying to avoid the shitshow he left behind.

“Cynthia!” his father yells from the front door downstairs drawing Connor’s attention. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late!”

“I know, I just…” the reply comes broken, pinched and frustrated but still loud enough to be heard across the large house. “I just left the letter, I left _his_ letter out last night and I can’t find it and-“

Connor can tell she is talking about him, but… _Letter, what letter?_ Connor hadn’t left a letter. What was the point of writing a suicide note when he didn’t have anything to put in it? He hadn’t had anything left to say. Not to his mom or Zoe, definitely not to _fucking Larry_ , and not to anyone else including himself.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Larry breathes deeply, “You left it in the living room on top of the piano last night before you went to bed.”

Connor has crept to edge of the staircase by now trying to figure out what they could possibly be talking about. Not that he has to stay out of sight. It’s not like they can see him. His father stands stoically at the door, waiting on his mother so they can leave. He can tell his father’s patented Murphy family rage is smoldering behind a severe face and dark eyes, but Connor can also see his obvious exhaustion. His mother walks toward the front foyer and Connor can’t help but notice how wrecked she looks. Her appearance is mostly neat. The few flyaways that escape her styled hair and small smudges at the very edges of her eye makeup are the few marks that she’s struggling to keep up appearances because God forbid that under any circumstances Cynthia Murphy not look completely put together. She may be dressed presentably for public, but the guilt that weighs heavily in his gut comes at the sight of the shadows under her eyes, her trembling lips, and wet cheeks. Her frame is tense as she shoulders a purse on her left side and clutches a single piece of paper in her right hand like it’s a lifeline. 

Connor starts to move closer to get a look at the paper his mother is holding, but it’s still a little intimidating walking straight up to people even once he realized that no one can see him. Most of the time he still forgets that he’s not completely there. And facing anyone right now is **a lot** intimidating for more reasons than the awkwardness of getting used to intangibility. 

Larry opens the door to leave, the silence of the room stifling. _Where are they going, anyway?_ His mother sniffles and his father turns in the open doorway to clasp her free hand in one of his own. He gives her hand a quick squeeze, exchanging an unsaid conversation as their eyes meet over the threshold of the house. Then they both leave, pulling the open door closed and Connor knows it’s locked as he hears the deadbolt click into place.

He should go back upstairs…but… he can’t.

Even as much as Connor doesn’t want to deal with anything right now, his thoughts after his parents’ exchange are nagging. _Where are they going? What the fuck were they talking about?_ He didn’t leave a note and had deleted any attempts off his laptop weeks ago. _What was that piece of paper then?_ All he knows was that it wasn’t his nonexistent letter. 

Connor just stands in the open foyer for a moment. He could stay here. Do more nothing. Ponder the meaning of afterlife. Steeling himself, Connor decides whatever he’s getting himself into can’t be any worse than haunting his own house. He takes a breath and walks through the closed door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lowkey live for comments and kudos... ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please hit me up with corrections, suggestions, etc.


	2. Principal Howard Sukz Ballz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes a trip down memory lane. He also had a meltdown but being dead is a lot to deal with, okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the angst train y’all. The beginning of this fic is heavy but I promise it won’t all be the deep dark feels. Also I know these chapters are a lot of description (which when reading is a big pet peeve of mine) but I really wanted to set up Connor’s personal situation well and then I’ll do my best to get in a better mix of description and dialogue. Also I made a few revisions to the last chapter to account for timeline mistakes I made. Sorry about that. Corrections and feedback are always welcome!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of suicide, descriptions of a panic attack, plotting vandalism of principal property ;)

 

Connor slips into the Murphy family’s oversized Escalade as his father pulls out of the driveway. He makes himself more or less comfortable in the trunk space of the SUV partially because he feels like he’s sneaking around, but also because it seems too normal, too alive, to sit in his usual seat. He avoids that thought and focuses on the familiar scenery passing by. 

Warm sunlight streams through the openings of the branches of trees lining the roadway and filters in through smudged windows dappling the interior of the car. Connor recognizes the houses that pass by on the typical drive out of his neighborhood. Everything is familiar but still seems oddly out of place. Or maybe it’s just Connor that is out of place. Still, it feels a little nice to be out of the house since he hasn’t really had the chance to enjoy being out since after-

-well, since… after.

The day he woke up here was more like a dream (or maybe more like a nightmare) than he could have ever imagined. No one alive ever really knows what happens after death much less how to mentally prepare for it. Connor hadn’t thought that far obviously. To be honest, before three days ago he hadn’t thought anything existed afterwards.

He hadn’t expected to wake up in his room. He still isn’t even sure what happened—what _is_ happening. But Monday night, when he realized where he was after his literal out-of-body experience, Connor had to leave. He had to get out. He couldn’t be in that house a second longer with… everything.

_He is stumbling down the stairs then pushing through the front door, no direction just leaving, just getting the fuck away from that place. He is partly walking, running, staggering until his adrenaline-fueled tunnel vision subsides and he’s stumbling into the empty park at least a mile away from home near the outskirts of town. He is functioning on autopilot, exhausted as his shaky legs are carrying him over to the nearest bench where he collapses and has to take a minute to breathe. He is trying so hard to just get it together, but instead he is bent at the waist, his head is cradled his hands and he’s completely overwhelmed._

_Then he’s crying, too lost for any other response. His breathing comes fast and harsh, and tears silently track down his cheeks blurring the sight of the droplets hitting the ground at his feet. Connor doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s confused, he’s angry, and he just… can’t._

_He’s confused because_ Where am I? Why am I here? And what the hell is going on? _But through the haze of the disorienting thoughts swirling around in his panicked brain Connor is even more angry. He’s angry because he can’t be here right now doing this. Connor isn’t **supposed** to be here right now. He isn’t supposed to have to deal this, to deal with anything. He was supposed to stop dealing with it. He never has been able deal with it and so he definitely can’t deal with whatever this is right now. He just **can’t.**_

 _By the time his breathing has finally steadied and Connor is able to see through his tears, he feels a familiar numbness. Connor slumps exhausted, long legs stretching across the sidewalk in front of him and head hitting the hard back of the concrete bench as he looks up into the dawning sky._

_A shuffle of movement to his side makes him whip his head to seek the source as a voice says, “Oh, glad to see you’re finally with me,” making Connor jump._

Connor actually does jump at the sound of the doors of the SUV slamming shut behind his parents exiting the car. Looking around, his conscious makes its way back to the present moment realizing they’re parked and that he’s made it to his parents’ destination. 

Which is… the school.

 _Shit._ He should’ve stayed at home.

But he didn’t. And now he’s here at his old school sitting in the trunk of his parents’ Escalade because he followed through on another stupid, impulsive decision.

Connor is no stranger to screwing himself over with stupid, impulsive decisions so he is also used to committing to said stupid, impulsive decisions.

Deciding to follow his parents, Connor very gracefully climbs through the side of the trunk and falls onto the pavement of the school parking lot. 

As he regains his bearings, Connor can see his parents move into the building through the visitor entrance nearby. He stuff his hands in his pockets and shrugs into his lanky frame, warily follows them by stepping into and through the heavy glass doors of the school. They must have planned to come by right after the start of the first period because the hallways are mostly deserted, quiet except for a few lingering students and the dull roar of distant untamed classroom conversations. He manages to see his parents duck into the main office as he enters the wide hallway a few steps behind them. 

Connor’s spent more than his fair share of time passing through the school’s main office over the past three years, most visits spent getting called out of classes to receive another lecture from the school's disciplinary principal. As he walks by today, he notes the office is in its typical state of unorganized chaos. An obviously sick student sits in the waiting room looking ready to puke while the receptionist reaches for her phone over a cluttered desk. 

Connor snakes his way through the winding hallways after his parents until they come to the head principal’s office. His parents are seated by the principal, Mr. Howard, in two plush chairs adjacent to an oversized desk.

“He should be here in a few moments. Let me know if you need anything else,” Mr. Howard says without any other preamble before excusing himself from the room.

There is no other exchange of niceties, and Connor suspects any condolences have already been offered as the principal exits leaving only the present awkward and heavy silence. He doesn’t know what his parents are waiting for but figures he might as well make himself comfortable in the meantime.

Principal Howard doesn’t seem to be using his office chair so Connor plops down into it and props his feet up on the oak desk. He is staring determinedly at the fancy pen set in front of him wondering vaguely if he might somehow be able to possess the writing object into leaving a nasty note to Principal Howard on a blank portfolio pad that’s been left open on the desk when a figure in the doorway catches his attention.

Frightened eyes peak up from staring at the floor while shaky hands fidget with the hem of a blue striped polo.

“O-oh, um, excuse me,” the boy manages to mumble, “I-is Mr. Howard…?" 

Of all the reasons Connor has been mulling over to figure out why his parents had come here this morning, he honestly never accounted for Evan Hansen.

_What the hell?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: Thanks for reading!!! Keep up with me for more updates coming soon and feel free  
> to offer corrections, leave comments, etc.


	3. Your Best and Most Dearest Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter soft tree boy and cue the misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a quick note that I’ll be doing my best to keep the dialogue true to the plot but it won’t be direct quotes.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of suicide, some negative obtrusive thoughts, and minor descriptions of anxiety

 

Evan Hansen.

Connor's mind quickly reels back to the first day of school and to the last day he was alive.

Hansen and his paper, Hansen fucking with him just to call him crazy. Suddenly Connor is on his feet nearly ready to vault across the large office desk. Remembering that afternoon is enough to cause Connor to see red, but the knowledge that he can't actually physically lash out leaves him seething instead fists clenched at his sides.

_What the hell?_

"I was j-just... Mr. Howard, uh, the principal..." Evan attempts to speak standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Connor knows his parents are here at the school in the wake of his suicide but, _What do they expect from Evan fucking Hansen?_

Sure, Hansen had been one of the last people he had ever talked to, but it's not like his parents knew that. Hansen wasn't anything special. Connor didn't know the kid. Not really. Everyone in school knew Evan Hansen's name after Junior year when he'd had a breakdown giving an oral presentation in US History. It was the same way everyone knew Connor was the freak kid who threw a printer at his second-grade teacher.

Before his outburst at Hansen after Kleinman's school shooter comment, Connor had sort of noticed him. He at least vaguely recognized the shy boy from a class they must have shared sometime since freshman year. Thinking back, Connor remembers seeing Evan in the library sometimes—one of the strangers with whom he could share a companionable silence across the bookshelves from the mutual, unspoken understanding that they were both there to be alone.

But really Connor had barely even interacted with him before the day-

 _Before the day he laughed at you. Before he treated you like the freak you are,_ the angry side of his mind supplies.

 _Before the day you were a complete dick to him and shoved the kid who was wearing a fucking cast to the ground_ , the rational part of his brain also casually mentions.

He'd felt guilty after that. Connor always feels guilty after he takes his rage out on anyone. So shoving Hansen to the ground had made a great start to the first day of school. The rest of that day had been just as shitty as Connor had expected too, his high the only thing that had made the first hour or so mostly manageable. But damn, he had been trying. He'd bothered to show up to his classes in the first place. So when he'd run into Evan in the computer lab after school, he took the chance to try to make up for earlier in his own weird way.

Connor, had known he'd been wrong. Evan had just been collateral damage that morning, the outlet to Connor's anger. Connor isn't a nice person. But on the days he'd felt able, he was trying to be a better person. So he'd tried with Evan. He'd grabbed the kid's paper off the printer. Signed his cast.

But it didn't matter. Hansen had just been messing with him—one more part of the harsh world that didn't care whether Connor was trying or not. And when the world screwed Connor over, Connor did his best to throw the hell he'd been given right back at the world.

So fuck Hansen. Fuck trying to make up for freaking out earlier and fuck whatever Hansen had written on his paper to mess with Connor.

"Sorry, sorry," Evan is saying too fast, "I was just called to come to the principal's office over the intercom, so..."

The paper.

That paper. _No._

_No, no, nonono._

Connor feels himself go cold, filling with a bone chilling dread.

After he'd stormed out of the computer lab that afternoon, he'd quickly scanned Hansen's paper and shoved in into his jeans.

His mother's words echo in his head, _"_ _I can't find his letter."_

 _That wasn't mine! I didn't even read the whole thing!_ The words he can remember from the page come to mind—" _Dear Evan Hansen_ " and " _Because there's Zoe."_ Connor tries to stem the flood of panic that washes over him thinking of what Evan could have written.

Larry motions the sputtering kid in the doorway towards the chair across from himself. "Mr. Howard stepped out for a moment. We actually wanted to speak with you alone, if that is alright with you."

An intelligent "Oh," is all Evan manages as he sits down.

"Well, we are Connor's parents."

"Oh." Evan says again wiping his hands on the legs on his pants. He looks uncomfortable and lost in this conversation, watching nervously as Connor's parents scrabble between themselves for a moment.

"Here," Connor's mother finally says handing him a folded piece of paper. "It's... Connor wanted you to have this."

Evan gingerly takes the paper from her hand unfolding it slowly. His eyes grow only the slightest bit wider. _He_ _recognizes it_ , Connor realizes still reeling. Then he is getting up, moving over towards the other side of the room hoping to see the rest of the words on the page.

"I'm sorry we've never met before," Cynthia says sincerely. "We didn't know you and Connor were friends."

"...friends," Evan repeats almost a question. Connor is equally dumbstruck.

"We didn't think Connor had any friends," Larry butts in and Connor can't help but feel a small flash of annoyance at the words. "But obviously he at least considered the two of you to be close. He wrote that to you. 'Dear Evan Hansen.' "

Connor is hovering over the other boy's shoulder now, staring down at the familiar piece of paper.

 **Dear Evan Hansen** , Connor reads the words on the page to himself.

 _A letter_ , he realizes, it's _a letter_.

**It turns out, this wasn't an amazing day after all. This isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because... why would it be?**

"Y-you think Connor wrote this... to- to me?"

_Oh my god._

"Yes. We think he wanted to leave you," his mother draws in a short gasp, voice breaking, "his last words."

 **Oh I know. Because there's Zoe. And all my hope is pinned on Zoe. Who I don't even know and who doesn'** **t know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just talk to her, then maybe... maybe nothing would be different at all.**

"What do you mean?" Evan says so softly his voice is barely audible.

The words tear Connor's attention back to the conversation from reading the letter, and he braces himself for the answer.

"Connor, he, he took his own life this week," Larry replies. "We think he wrote this to you... to, uh, tell you..." he breaks off, unable to continue.

Larry pauses a moment then recites the words continued on the page, "I wish that everything was different. I wish that I were a part of something. I wish that what I said mattered to anyone."

"Stop! Please!" Connor's mother interrupts.

But Connor finishes reading the last words over Evan's shoulder.

**I mean, face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?**

The words make him sick. Connor looks up from the letter at Evan Hansen, reeling. He can barely process his torrent of emotions at reading the note, but mostly he is angry at fucking Hansen all over again. Evan looks like he is panicking, his eyes blown wide, hands holding the letter shaking, his breathing becoming shaky.

"I-I'm sorry... We weren't... C-Connor didn't write this to me." Evan stumbles over the words.

"What do you mean?" Connor's mother questions.

"But of course he did," Larry states.

"N-no... no, you don't understand... he didn't-" Evan tries again.

"But your name is right there!" his mother states beginning to sound hysteric.

"I... I should just go."

"No, no! Please, did he say anything?! Please, if you can tell us anything, please... please just..." she pleads frantically. Connor can only stand behind Evan's chair watching as the situation spirals into chaos.

Larry has moved towards Connor's mother in her distress and is attempting to calm her down. "Cynthia," he says placatingly.

Neither of them even seem to remember Evan who sits rigid in his chair, one hand clutching the armrest while the other is firmly holding his letter. He quickly glances towards the door obviously wanting to leave, but he also seems to hesitate to actually get up and walk out. He is looking back at the Murphys an open hurt crossing his expression.

He stands quickly, and Connor watches as Evan braces himself to act on an apparent decision.

"Here," Evan stands and holds the letter out to Connor's mother. "You should have it. It's the last thing you have left of him... so, p-please, just take it." Evan has been mostly crouched into himself since he entered the office, but as he reaches across the space between himself and the Murphys the large letters scrawled across his arm are glaringly recognizable. Connor rides through another wave of emotion upon seeing "CONNOR" written in block letters on the plaster.

Through her crying, his mother's eyes catch on Evan's cast. Connor hears her audibly suck in a quick breath through her teeth before she turns towards her husband. "Larry, his cast." He nods, attention already directed towards the name scrawled on Evan's arm.

Evan looks down too, realizing that they must be seeing Connor's sharpie signature covering his cast. His mom finally takes the note from Evan. "His best and most dearest friend," she sighs. She looks Evan right in the eye and says softly, "Thank you."

Evan is standing stock-still, arm still slightly extended. Larry must sense Evan's unease because he clears his throat breaking the seriousness of the moment.

"Evan," he starts. "I'm sure you need to get back to class, and since you didn't know about... well, uh, I'm sure this has all been a lot to take in. We would appreciate it if you could tell us anything else. You're welcome at our house any time, and you can even come by for dinner tonight if you like." Larry grabs a pen off the principal's desk after reaching into his back pocket to produce a business card. He scratches out a few familiar lines onto the back of the card quickly before handing it to Evan, "There's my phone number and our address."

"Thank you, Evan. We hope we'll see you soon," Larry says finishing the conversation. He gets to his feet, pulling Cynthia up with him to excuse themselves. They exit leaving Connor and Evan in the silent principal's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats* 
> 
> Um, so this was a little later than I was planning to post this, but this chapter was giving me some fits and it definitely turned out longer than I first expected. I think I'm happy with the end product. I hope the layout isn’t too confusing with the switching between Connor’s thoughts/reading the note and the Murphys’ dialogue with Evan. Comments (and criticism) are welcome and as always, THANKS FOR READING!


	4. Warm Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the principal's office and who scared Connor back in chapter two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys I’m back. Well school has started back up so we’ll see how that goes. I’m actually pretty excited so far, but I’ll just have to keep an eye on how busy I’ll be and how that will affect updates. 
> 
> A N Y W A Y. It’s been a little while since I updated, so take this double update as a peace offering.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mild descriptions of a panic attack, references to suicide, a few intrusive thoughts.

 

Both of the Murphy parents exit leaving behind a silent and stifling room. Connor is overwhelmed at the current turn of events. He never foresaw his parents finding that stupid note, much less that they might assume that he and Evan Hansen were friends.

 _I can’t believe I kept that fucking letter! If I hadn’t- If I had just, just thrown it away, or burned it! I can’t even die right._ Not that he hadn’t failed at trying to before.

No. _This is all Hansen’s fault!_

He turns back to-

“Evan,” Mr. Howard enters causing Evan and Connor both to startle, “you can go back to class… or… if you need to make a phone call home-“

“-No, uh, no I’m fine, bu-but thank you,” Evan responds turning to shuffle out the door.

Connor dazedly follows him out of the office into the hallways of the school where the boy quickly makes his way to the nearest bathroom—no doubt to probably freak out a little. The student bathrooms near the school entrance are the smallest and farthest from the other wings of the school that house classrooms so they are hardly ever occupied. Connor knows since he’s skipped class a few times there when he couldn’t make it out of the building but needed to get away from the commotion of other students. After the heavy door swings closed behind Evan, Connor warily peeks through door to see Evan leaning against the wall, eyes distant and breathing heavy. Connor ducks back out.

He presses his back against the wall outside the bathroom door and slides down the hard cinderblock to a crouch. His head is a mess. Connor fixes his gaze on the vending machine across from him trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts.

_Okay, okay. Calm down. Focus on the facts._

The facts he knows are that the paper Hansen wrote was a letter, his parents found it and think he wrote the letter to Hansen. They also think that he and Hansen were friends, and that Hansen hasn’t explained to Connor’s parents that he was the one who wrote the letter and that he was not friends with Connor.

Granted the guy probably isn’t going to admit what actually happened. _Oh, uh, yeah so-_ Connor pictures the stuttering kid, _I a-actually wrote that letter harass your dead son_. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

Somehow, though, something in the back of his mind nags Connor when he thinks about Evan and the letter. Some small little something that just doesn’t quite fit.

Evan opens the door to the bathroom apparently now collected and continues down the hallway presumably to return to class.

Connor takes a moment to breathe then pushes his weight back against the wall to stand. And he makes a decision. He leaves turning the opposite direction Evan headed and walks back towards the office through the doors to the parking lot before plopping down on one of the concrete benches in front of the school.

The day is still mostly warm, but the sun is now hidden in the overcast sky by gloomy clouds. A breeze manages to rustle a few still green leaves from some trees shading the school entryway. Connor settles in, slumping into the bench, and lets his mind wander back to the last day he sat on a similar park bench.

 

* * *

 

The back of Connor’s head hits the cold, hard concrete bench behind him. The sky is still dark, only the beginnings of dawn light the horizon. A voice from Connor’s side makes him jump.

“Oh, glad to see you’re finally with me.”

Connor whips his head to his right trying to identify the source of the voice. A small laugh comes from the same direction. “I’m sorry,” comes the chuckle. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or uh,” the voice sobers a little apologetically, “to intrude.”

Connor feels a small surge of annoyance at the laugh, but he’s so shocked at being addressed that he remains silent trying to recover from his surprise. He hasn’t noticed anyone else yet. _Are there other people here?_ Somehow, he didn’t expect to not be alone. In the dim lighting from the lamps surrounding the park, Connor can finally make out the form of another person moving to stand up from sitting against a large beech tree.

As she nears, Connor can make out an older woman probably in her late fifties or early sixties. She’s fairly tall, and actually a bit of an imposing figure, but behind her black graying hair cropped right above her shoulders she has kind dark eyes and a smile on a warm face. She is also draped in the same grey tinge as Connor.

“You’re new,” the woman states simply, not a question.

He breaks away from her intense gaze and stares at the ground instead. Connor keeps his mouth shut as the stranger takes a seat at the other end of the bench he is sitting on. Internally he’s definitely still having a meltdown at this whole situation, but he’s too exhausted to sort through his head and put together a coherent answer right away.

“-I’m… dead?” he manages after a minute.

“Yes,” the woman responds.

Connor lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He doesn’t know what to feel. Relief that he’s dead? Fear at being here?

“And this place is…?” he asks still looking at a particularly interesting patch of grass forcing its way through the concrete near his feet.

“More or less the same place you left.”

“Uh, sure, I guess.” More silence. “How…?” he starts.

She lets out an amused huff, “I’m not sure anyone really knows the answer to that.” She fully turns towards him now. “I’m Diane Tsosie.”

“I didn’t ask.” Connor says touchily looking up a little. “I know,” she responds around a smile. “But I offered.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. “I’m Connor… Murphy.”

She gives a small nod at Connor’s awkward reply. “Nice to meet you, Connor. Wish I could say that under different circumstances, but we’re both here. Well, welcome to the afterlife.”

Connor goes back to keeping his mouth shut. _How are you supposed to respond to that?_

“You can call it whatever you want, but that’s usually how I refer to it,” she says conspiratorially.

Connor finally meets her eyes overall a little surprised at her introduction. “Why?” he blurts out, feeling and hurt seeping into his tone, before he has a chance to filter the question coming out of his mouth. It’s the real question that has been incessantly filling his head and was the first one he actually wanted to ask, but he didn’t expect to voice it aloud.

Diane looks surprised as well. “I don’t know …but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Everyone is here for a reason.”

The sun breaks the horizon lightening the first blue of the morning sky by the time their conversation reaches a lull.

“Oh,” Diane says seeming to notice the brightening sky. “Connor, I’m sorry I can’t stay longer but I have to go.” She offers a small smile. “I come around here pretty often if you want to talk, though.”

She stands up from the bench. “I hope I’ll see you later if you have more questions,” she offers over her shoulder. Then she’s walking off further out of town.

Connor sighs trying to take in her words. He tilts his head back again peering at the few remaining stars fading into the dark expanse above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the beech tree is symbolic of past knowledge and softening criticism]
> 
> Okay, I know I’m basically introducing an OC, but I promise she’ll fit into the story unobtrusively. I hope you all like her, she’s realistic enough, etc. I just couldn’t leave Connor to flounder without an afterlife Obi-Wan Kenobi. I think you’ll like how she fits in later, though :)
> 
> Comment, Kudo. Reactions, corrections, and suggestions welcome!


	5. Evan Hansen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor follows Evan. Jared and Evan skype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~cue the angst~
> 
> Chapter Warnings: References to suicide, references to panic attacks, references to anxiety and depression.

 

Connor sits there until late afternoon. After the first few hours of waiting, he was practically bouncing with energy. But he’s doing his best to walk it off and keep his mind from wandering to the darker corners of his psyche.

Which has left him considering his first day as the living dead again. Diane’s words float back to him for the zillionth time in the last few days, _“Everyone is here for a reason.”_

Connor doesn’t buy into any the-universe-has-a-plan shit, and he definitely can’t imagine any reason he’s currently here on this bench when he should be gone. But if he’s here, he sure as hell isn’t going to mope when he could be getting some answers. Connor hardly believes the universe set him up to haunt Evan Hansen. But fuck the universe, and fuck Hansen, that’s what he’s going to do.

So he sits on the bench outside the school until the final bell of the day rings through the air. Students immediately begin to trickle through the entryway eager to start their first weekend after being back at school. Connor watches and waits.

“Dude, would you just spill already!”

Connor doesn’t have to guess what they’re talking about.

Evan walks through the doors determinedly looking straight ahead while being pursued by an agitated Jared Kleinman.

“JaredIalreadytoldyou-,” Evan says in a rush still not looking at the sulking boy behind him.

“-Yeah, yeah,” Jared interrupts “-that you don’t want to say anything with people around. You said that at lunch. But come on. School’s over. Everyone is leaving and it’s not like anyone is even paying attention,” Jared attempts to point out. The kid talks so loud that Connor can understand why Hansen looks around panicked like Kleinman just called attention to their weird conversation. Which is exactly what happened. Connor doubts that Jared Kleinman could have a subtle conversation if his life depended on it. Luckily, that asshole’s obnoxious grating is at least good for catching Connor’s attention.

He stands from the bench and follows the two other boys as they walk out towards the student parking lot.

“Jared, please just can you… let’s just talk about this later.”

“Fine…” Jared relents. “Skype later?” Evan looks hesitant. He doesn’t answer Jared’s question, fumbling instead with the hem of his shirt.

The boys approach a maroon sedan and Jared, scowling, opens the door to begin climbing into the driver’s side. “Don’t think you’ll get away without talking about it, bro.” He leans out the open door to address Evan as he starts the car, “You better tell me exactly what went down this morning. I know it has to be about your weird sex lett-”

“-Okay bye Jared!” Evan blurts, clumsily throwing his hands up against the car’s window in a panic effectively slamming the door in Jared’s face.

Connor can’t help but laugh at the awkward scene, watching as Jared flips Evan off before the sedan speeds out of the parking lot leaving Evan standing alone, face red. Evan his head probably hoping no one saw what just happened and marches off away from the school.

 _I didn’t think Hansen had it in him_ , Connor thinks still snickering a little. Sure, maybe Evan being clumsy helped the situation. _But it’s not like I’ve ever seen that kid do anything not… nice…_

The thought suddenly feels out of place. Obviously Hansen wasn’t nice in the computer lab. Connor tries think of something else as he follows Evan.

He wonders how far Evan’s walk home is. Kleinman didn’t offer him a ride so maybe it’s not that far. Or maybe it’s far enough to be out of Kleinman’s way.

As they walk, Connor focuses on the boy ahead of him, too. Even when he is alone, Evan can’t seem to relax. He walks with tense shoulders hunched up to his ears. But then again Evan is usually alone unless he’s with Kleinman. The only other person Connor has ever seen Evan talking to is Alana Beck. But Alana talks to, really she talks at everyone so he wouldn’t guess she and Evan are necessarily friends.

They walk about 20 minutes (" _HANSEN, THIS IS SO FAR. HOW DO YOU DO THIS EVERY DAY?!_  "), passing through Connor’s neighborhood before taking a turn and then several back streets to approach Evan’s house. The house is plain on the outside and evidently small. Connor waits near the porch while Evan fumbles with his keys to open the door even though Connor could just walk though it.

He slips inside feeling extremely awkward as Evan steps into the entryway. Evan may not be able to see him but it still feels weird to sneak into Evan’s home without his knowledge or permission. _Haunting someone is probably different than being a creepy stalker... maybe..._

A quick survey reveals a living room with one doorway that leads to a hall and another that leads into a small kitchen. A few blankets have been haphazardly thrown and left on the couch and a few take out containers sit on the counter in the kitchen near a full trash can. The house is fairly tidy, just comfortably messy enough to feel lived in which feels completely unfamiliar to Connor.

Connor is used to spotlessness that comes from his mother’s never-ending cleaning. Nothing is ever left out of place in his home. His house gives the impression that someone like Connor was just crashing in a model home pristinely polished to show off the granite countertops and vaulted ceilings. Connor always figured his parents felt like they needed to show their house was in order as part of pretending that their home and family were too.

He brings his attention back to Evan who hangs his keychain on a little hook inside the kitchen.

“Mom?” Evan calls.

There’s no answer, but Evan doesn’t look surprised. His face falls a little in a way that’s tired.

Connor follows behind as the other boy walks down the hallway to a bedroom at the end of the short stretch. Evan kicks his shoes off as he enters the room and opens a laptop sitting at the desk in his room.

Connor takes a seat on Evan's bed awkwardly behind Evan watching as Jared Kleinman’s face pops up over Skype.

“FINALLY!” Connor can hear Kleinman’s voice crackle over the laptop speakers. “Now talk,” he commands Evan.

 _Here we go_.

“Oh my God Jared, I just, I-” Evan takes a deep breath. Then starts talking fast. “So I get called into the principal’s office—which you already knew—but I get there and Connor Murphy’s parents are sitting there and they say they want to talk to me and then His mom takes out my letter-”

Connor bristles at the mention of the letter, fisting Evan’s comforter, or trying to, as old anger resurfaces.

“YOUR SEX LETTER!”

 _Sex letter?  What is Kleinman on about?_ Annoyance lances through Connor.

“J-Jared-” Evan starts, stutter returning.

“Well, I knew it.”

“ _Jared_.” Evan says voice harder this time.

“Okay, okay, sooo…”

Another deep breath. “So, she gives me the letter back-”

“Well that’s good,” Jared cuts in. “At least you have it back now.”

_Why would Hansen want his letter back?_

“God, I wish.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain,” Evan sighs, “S-so she thought—they both thought that Connor wrote the letter to me.”

“WHAT? Why would Connor Murphy be writing you a letter?” Kleinman continues too fast for Evan to say anything. “Unless this really is a weird sex thing and even then it doesn’t really compete with your whole thing for tr-“

“-He’s dead, Jared.”

“…” Kleinman is actually silent for once.

_Not about to make another psycho joke?_

“…His parents think he wrote me that letter before…”

The other end of the connection remains silent.

“…They saw the stuff I wrote for therapy ( _Therapy?_ ) and I guess they assumed that Connor and I were friends and that he wrote to me about his problems and stuff. They thought he wrote me this as his su-as his, uh, last words.”

“Jesus, Evan,” Jared finally speaks up. No jokes, all pretenses dropped, he says the next words like he cares. “I know you write those letters as an assignment for your psychiatrist, but… what did you write?”

Evan chokes on the air he’s breathing, eyes wide. He looks terrified.

And suddenly all the pieces click into place in Connor’s mind. The blinding anger that swept over Connor in the computer lab, in the principal’s office, isn’t here now and Connor realizes exactly what's been bothering him. Evan Hansen is a nervous person; Connor knows this. But Evan Hansen is more than just nervous.

Several scenes begin to replay in Connor's mind, connected by a familiar ache.

Evan Hansen begs for the paper Connor has taken.

Evan Hansen hands a letter back to Connor’s mother with sad eyes.

Evan Hansen has a panic attack in the school bathroom.

 _Nice_ Evan Hansen doesn’t stand up to his friend when he’s an asshole.

 _Anxious_ Evan Hansen attends therapy and writes letters to himself.

 _Depressed_ Evan Hansen stands alone in his home with a tired face.

Evan didn’t write the letter for Connor to see.

Connor is standing up from the bed, numb. He doesn’t hear Evan brush off Jared’s question and ask advice about coming to the Murphy’s for dinner instead. Connor is walking out of the house back home, feeling completely shattered.

The already somber words from his memory now haunt him as he walks.

**Dear Evan Hansen,**

Connor thinks back to pushing Evan in the hallway. Things could have been so much different.

**It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because… why would it be?**

How didn’t he see the same brokenness in Evan he knows so well? He rounds a corner hoping he is headed in the right direction to get home.

**Oh I know. Because there’s Zoe. And all my hope is pinned on Zoe. Who I don’t know and who doesn’t know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just talk to her, then maybe… maybe nothing would be different at all.**

Connor is home, walking up to the front door. But things aren’t different, he fucked up again, he didn’t notice Evan, and now he’s here.

**I wish that everything was different. I wish that I was a part of… something. I wish that anything I said… mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?**

Connor walks up the stairs and lays on his bed. He cries.

**Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend, Me.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing this chapter was like D O N T H A T E M E B Y E.
> 
> I think Evan passively aggressively plus clumsily shutting Jared’s car door is like hilarious. Sorry I made it serious like 3 seconds later.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments or to hit me up with corrections and suggestions.


	6. Can We Fix This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor talks to his fam, but forgets about dinner. Well there’s more than that but you’ll have to read suckas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead. Just kidding I'm always dead. First two weeks of school down now so I'm just less dead. Whoot!
> 
> Now, the plot thickens. I’m so excited! ALDFJALSK! Also I was trying to keep all the chapters like around the same size. Well, I gave up on that for now. This chapter is long so the next may be a bit shorter. Just a warning.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Referenced Suicide (pretty sure that's it for this chapter)

 

Connor doesn’t know how long he’s been laying here. He cried for a long time, but he doesn’t have any tears left to cry now. Losing a grasp on time, he’s stayed here curled up on his bed exhausted and battered by his torrent of thoughts and emotions.

He wishes he could just fall asleep to wake up to his problems later. But he can’t anymore. He physically can’t. Connor hasn’t been able to sleep since he woke up here. He doesn’t know if it is just impossible for anyone to sleep when they’re a ghost or if it has just been due to his racing mind.

_No rest for the wicked._

Zoe doesn't really surprise Connor when she enters the room. Sometimes she comes to sit on the floor leaning against the wall with her legs tucked in, but only when she thinks mom and Larry aren’t paying attention. When she is around their parents, Zoe aggressively denies the need to grieve. Connor wonders if she can’t.

Today she doesn’t quite enter, but rather she just leans against the door frame staring into the empty room looking tired. She also looks angry right now, but it’s the kind of anger that isn’t obvious on the surface. Zoe always holds her frustrations down deep inside and out of sight, at least until they boil over.

He knows she must be angry. He can’t blame her for that. And if there’s one thing that Connor understands, it’s being angry without understanding why.

Connor doesn’t really know why she comes to his room, though. He wants to believe a part of Zoe does miss him, but the anger alongside the pain in her expression makes him doubt that. _I don’t have any right to wish she felt like that. I’ve only ever hurt her._

“I don’t blame you,” he says out loud even though she can’t hear him. “I fucked up again. I hurt someone else again. Like I’ve always hurt you.”

It’s become a kind of therapy whenever she comes in to linger in his old room to talk to her aloud. To say all the things he could never say with just the two of them there. Now that she can’t hear him he can finally tell her.

“It still makes me angry. But I can’t blame you because I never did anything but hurt you. So if you can’t miss me, if you’re not sad I’m gone, I can’t blame you.”

The words feel like a lead weight in his throat, but voicing them is somehow also liberating. These kinds of conversations are probably the longest Connor has spoken to Zoe without ending in an argument in a long time.

They just stay there like that for a while. Zoe hovering in the doorway; Connor splayed out on the bed. The two Murphy siblings wait in the shared silence of the small room, a million worlds apart.

“Zoe,” their mother calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Come down for dinner, please.” Zoe turns around, but doesn’t answer. She spares a final glance into Connor’s room before descending the stairs.

Connor can hear the familiar sounds of his family getting ready to eat at the table in the dining room downstairs. The scraping of the dining room table chairs and clinking of silverware on ceramic plates filters up and through his doorway. There isn’t much talking, but that isn’t new around the Murphy dinner table.

A few minutes into dinner the doorbell rings.

“Please, come in. Come in. We’ve only just started eating,” his mother’s voice drifts up to the second floor.

Another voice flutters in indistinctly but unfortunately familiar. “Oh, I, I’m fine you really don’t have to w-worry about me—eating that is—I don’t want to, uh, impose. And especially if you’ve already started dinner, I’m more than happy to j-just-“

Connor nearly asks why the universe hates him before he remembers his father’s invitation to Evan in the principal’s office that morning.

 _Fan-fucking-tastic._ Connor can’t deal with this. He buries his head under a pillow.

“It’s not an inconvenience,” Mrs. Murphy cuts off her guest’s rambling. “Come sit down.”

“Yes, please join us,” Larry adds probably still at the table, sounding farther off from Evan and his mother.

After a few minutes, strained conversation floats up the stairs as the sounds of eating dinner resume. Connor does his best to drown out the conversation until he can’t help but catch his name

“Did Connor ever mention them?” Mrs. Murphy asks Evan. “Oh, uh, y-yeah, all the- I mean, maybe a few times,” Evan stutters out.

 _Oh, HELL NO!_ Connor may have felt bad about taking Hansen’s stupid therapy letter, but like hell he was about to stand by while Hansen lies to his family. He stands and moves swiftly toward the stairs.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Connor knows rationally there isn’t anything he can do to prevent Evan from saying or doing anything. Connor is useless. But Connor isn’t thinking rationally, and he’s pissed.

“Did he mention the ski trips? We used to go skiing with their family over Christmas vacation.” He can hear his mother reminisce as he reaches the bottom of the stairwell.

“Y-yeah. Skiing,” Evan says stupidly, nodding.

“LIKE HELL I TOLD YOU ANYTHING ABOUT SKIING EVAN HANSEN!” Connor yells as he approaches, looming invisibly behind Evan Hansen’s chair at his family’s dinner table.

Connor watches as Evan flinches a little, nearly unnoticeably. Evan tries to recover himself and adds, “Connor loved skiing.”

      “-I FUCKING HATED SKIING!” Connor screams.

          “-Connor hated skiing,” Zoe remarks disdainfully under the noise of Connor’s scream.

Evan pales. “Yeah, I mean, you know Connor, he loved talking about how much he, uh, hated skiing. That’s what I meant to say.” In trying to cover his mistake he begins rambling. “Sorry, I just don’t always- my sarcasm can kinda f-fall flat.”

Zoe looks at Evan like he’s grown two heads. Connor wants to scream. But he just paces on edge around the dinner table unable to do anything else.

“You spent a lot of time with Connor, then?” Cynthia tries again.

“Oh yeah, we hung out together all the time.” Connor bites out. The venom from his previous yelling now bleeds into snark.

“We hung out together all the time.” Evan repeats seriously.

_WHAT?!? How can he even say that? This kid can’t lie for shit!_

“I never saw you and Connor together,” Zoe pipes up.

_Thank you, Zoe!_

“The first time I saw you two was the first day of school, when he pushed you in the hall.”

“He pushed you?!” their mother exclaims.

Connor feels a familiar stab of guilt. _Well she could have left that part out._

“No! Well, yes, but we didn’t always talk in public.” Evan starts talking too quickly again. “You see he got mad because we weren’t supposed to talk at school, but then I wasn’t thinking and I just went up to him so then he got mad and he did push me but it wasn’t- it was… fine,” he finishes lamely.

“You weren’t supposed to talk at school?” Mrs. Murphy asks confused.

“Yeah well, I’m…” he trails off.

_You could just tell them that I was an awful friend. They’d buy that._

“Weird,” Zoe offers.

“Zoe!” Larry scolds.

"No, she’s right. A-and us hanging out together at school would just have made us bigger targets for getting bullied anyway.”

_Okay, that was probably a little too true._

The Murphy family sits shocked. Evan goes still as he’s realized what he’s admitted but instead of backpedaling, he tries to change the topic to distract them.

“So it w-was easier for us to talk out of sight. We- uh -wrote to each other.”

“You wrote that letter. But it wasn’t for me, was it?” Connor asks aloud.

He’s not sure what makes him voice his question. Evan mouth opens. His brow creases, expression distressed. For a second Connor thinks he is about the spill the whole truth.

“-We never saw any other letters,” Larry butts in. Evan closes his mouth. “You didn’t show up in his texts or even e-mails.”

“Yeah,” Connor mutters, “because you were anal enough to spy on my e-mails. I had to set up a separate account just to-”

“He used a separate e-mail account,” Evan says quickly, repeating Connor’s words again.

Again. _Okay that was weird._ It's like Evan...

Connor has talked aloud to his family often over the course of the last week, but no one has ever seemed to respond. He’s tried talking to his mom, apologizing, trying to say goodbye, but she usually just starts crying. Which she does every hour whether Connor speaks to her or not. Zoe always sits stoically or begins to look angry like in his room. He hasn’t bothered with Larry.

But… Evan. _Can he… hear me? This is crazy, there is no way… Yeah, no, I’m insane._

“I told you he knew you checked all his messages,” Connors mother whispers to Larry failing to be inconspicuous.

“Okay, sure you can say you e-mailed or whatever,” Zoe addresses Evan skeptically, “but why would you even want to be friends with Connor?”

That cut deep. But she’s not wrong. Connor knows it’s true. Connor didn’t have friends.

“Zoe!” Larry reprimands.

“What?!” Zoe cries voice rising. She directs her attention back at her father. “Do you really think Connor could have been a good friend?! Connor wasn’t even a good person!”

“There were good things…” Evan says softly, just loud enough for the Murphys to hear. They don’t say anything else. The table is tense.

“…She’s right, Hansen,” Connor says.

“No… everyone has good parts…” Evan speaks quietly but firmly, the words responding to Connor's.

“Like what?” Zoe asks to Evan’s statement. She doesn’t sound as harsh as earlier, the fight draining from her voice.

Connor ignores her, too caught up in Evan’s words. “I don’t have good parts!” he yells at Evan. “Maybe I did a long, long time ago but I’ve been fucked up for way too long now to believe that! The last time I ever even felt okay was forever ago!” Connor thinks back to the few of his happy memories before he started his downhill spiral. He can barely think back to playing with Zoe, to car trips, to times before he could remember his parents screaming every night.

Connor’s eyes catch on the bowl of apples decoratively laid out on the table. He sighs. _“The orchard…”_ That’s the last place he can remember a youthful innocence and childlike happiness when he thought of his family. Before reality came crashing in.

“The orchard,” Evan murmurs, sounding slightly confused.

_Holy shit. Did I say that out loud? Wait, even if I did say that out loud, does that mean Evan **can** hear me?!_

“You went to the orchard?”

Evan freezes, and Connor sees his chance. If Evan can hear him…

“Tell them the truth.” Connor demands.

“…” Evan is silent.

“Say no!” Connor tries again.

“…”

“Well, say something!” Connor snaps exasperatedly.

“Yes,” Evan finally says.

Connor wants to smack himself in the face. _What kind of joke is this?_

The response is apparently enough to jolt Evan back into action. “Yeah, we went. H-he took me out there once at the beginning of the summer. It was amazing,” Evan smiles a little.

“That place has been closed down for years,” Larry mentions.

“That would hardly stop Connor,” Cynthia smiles fondly. “Do you remember that time he jumped the fence while we were on that picnic.”

“He crushed all of those baby trees. I remember that,” Zoe responds laughing a little and Evan scowls a little probably thinking of the trees.

 _That’s the first time Zoe has said anything about me with a smile on her face since…_ He can’t remember.

“Because he was trying to get our model plane back. We were flying it in one of the big fields, but it flew over the fence into the creek. He finally got it off the other bank but he fell in trying to reach it. And the plane was broken. So he comes back soaking with the broken plane…” Larry tells the story warmly slowly trailing off.

He remembers that…

Connor takes a few steps back from the table. His eyes have filled with tears, surprised at his family’s reactions.

His mom continues. “He loved that ice cream shop on the drive there. Zoe, you two would always get the same thing.”

“We got hot fudge sundaes.” Zoe grins. “I remember now.”

“I’d completely forgotten about that place. But I guess Connor remembered.”

_Maybe even if I forgot all of the good parts… maybe they didn’t forget everything._

“I’m… ” Connor doesn’t even know what to say to his family.

Evan tries for him. “Connor… he, uh… Connor knew how happy you all were there. S-so he showed me all of it. We went out for ice cream, he showed me the orchard, we climbed some of the trees-"

Connor is on the verge of tears, but at Evan’s comment he lets out a wet and exasperated huff. _This stupid kid is still getting caught in his lies._ “Climbed trees? You have a broken arm.”

“...I actually broke my arm out there. I fell, but Connor was there. He was a good friend. I… I just wish that I could have… that maybe…”

Mrs. Murphy reaches out and grasps one of Evans hands. “Thank you, Evan.” She says sincerely. And that’s the first time Connor has truly seen her smile a real smile since he left.

 _This is helping her,_ he realizes.

Connor looks to Evan. _Maybe, just maybe I can fix this._

Watching his family in the aftermath of the last week has been torture. Connor thought he would solve his problems, but he’s just had to relive them.

 _If I can make things a little better..._ He looks towards his mom.

“Evan,” Connor starts. “You… you should bring more e-mails.” Connor waits with baited breath.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll bring you more… of our letters.” Evan says looking at Cynthia, then to Larry and Zoe. “I think he would want you to have them.”

“That would be wonderful!” Connor’s mom smiles that smile again. “Thank you, Evan.”

She looks so hopeful. And Connor has been trying to say goodbye, to let them know that he wishes so much were different. Looking between Evan and his mother he thinks maybe he finally can tell them.

_I can do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boi, anyone see that coming? I’d actually like to know.
> 
> The letters are coming soon ;)
> 
> Comment, Kudo. Offer corrections and suggestions. Thanks for sticking around so far, y’all are awesome.


	7. Evan After Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan reflects on how he ended up at the Murphys and Jared offers to help out the acorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wrote this instead of eating dinner at a decent time like a respectable human being. I hate that this chapter feels so filler-y and I really just wanted to get to the e-mails but I realized I still need a few things to happen before that. But it's okay because I do really enjoy this look into Evan’s thoughts (This chapter is Evan's POV). Also, real life is catching up since its exam week, but I’m really hoping to post more soon. Thanks for sticking with me :)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Referenced suicide, references to depressive behaviors, and Jared’s a dick who makes gay jokes *cough* to overcompensate *cough*.

 

The front door closes hard behind Evan as he enters his home. Evan doesn’t bother to call out this time as he stoops to remove his shoes. When his mom hadn’t been home earlier that evening, he’d known her shift had probably been extended again and that she wouldn’t be home until well past dinnertime. She usually tries to leave a few microwave dinners in the freezer or a little stash of cash for takeout on nights like this.

 _“You can always order online now too, honey!”_ Evan can hear his mom’s voice in his head when she found out their favorite Chinese place had started online ordering. _“And you can pay online so you wouldn’t even need to talk to the delivery person when they bring the food.”_ He’d smiled at her and nodded even though the thought of facing a delivery person as he stood awkwardly silent on his front porch steps made his skin crawl. He knew that she must be worried about him because even delivery from wonderfully cheap hole-in-the-wall takeout adds up to get expensive. _“Thanks, Mom.”_ Heidi beamed back at him. He decided not to mention the evenings that his appetite isn’t there, the nights when he just doesn’t feel like eating.

After pulling his shoes off and setting them neatly in their place by the door, Evan pads down the hallway to his room shrugging his backpack off his shoulders and letting it slide to the ground near his desk. It’s still pretty early but he flops onto the bed hoping against hope that he might be able to fall asleep anyway. His wishes his mind was able shut off at night, but Evan has always been the kind of person who could never fall asleep right away. He usually lies awake after crawling into bed for at least half an hour overanalyzing the events of his previous day, and dinner at the Murphy’s tonight has left him with plenty to think about.

As he had walked up to their door, he’d just kept repeating Jared’s advice in his head like a mantra. _“Just smile and nod, Okay?”_

How had he gotten so caught up? Sure he’d been nervous, but he hadn’t actually known Connor. At the beginning of the meal he’d just been trying to deflect Zoe’s questions. But then, then he had stuck up for Connor. He had talked like Connor had been a good friend and not just one Evan could only imagine. What was he thinking!? Why did he do that?

Maybe it was because Evan felt hot needles creep up his spine when Zoe had lashed out about her brother. Connor might have been… Evan didn’t know what Connor’s problem had been, but it must have been serious if it was bad enough to… well…

Or maybe it was because Mr. Murphy seemed disengaged from the whole conversation even though he had been the one to invite Evan over. Maybe Larry Murphy was someone who just moved on from his problems quickly. Evan has always worried about everything, so maybe he just can’t understand how some people seem so resilient in the face of their problems. But somehow Evan got the impression that Mr. Murphy didn’t fit that bill. He seemed so straight laced and every time Connor was mentioned Evan felt like he lacked a certain urgency when it came to discussing his son.

Maybe it was because of Connor’s mom. She was trying so hard to keep her family together even with her own brokenness written across her face. The only thing she wanted from Evan was a little piece of Connor to remember. He could do that. Even if it was a lie, he could do that for worried eyes and a sad, small smile that were both too familiar.

Evan didn’t know what it was that kept him talking at the Murphy family’s dinner table. But he hadn’t been able to stop talking, hadn’t _wanted_ to stop talking, and the Murphys hadn’t been able to stop listening. No one ever listens to Evan. His mom tries, but it’s not like she’s ever there to listen. Evan understands that she needs to work, and that part of the reason she does work so much is for him. But knowing he can’t always count on the one person that he trusts more than anyone else just to be there is lonely. And Jared might be his only _family_ friend but he makes it clear every time he teases Evan about his stutter or talks over him that Jared doesn’t think what Evan has to say is usually worth hearing.

Across the room, the trilling videochat ringtone sounds from the laptop sitting open on the top of his desk. Evan groans as he rolls over in bed to face the now illuminated computer screen that shows a little, blue ringing phone icon next to Jared’s contact picture.

 _Ugghh. Speak of the devil._ He forces himself up and over to the desk knowing that ignoring Jared will only result in an annoying string of calls that won’t stop until Evan answers one of them. He sighs and accepts the Skype call.

“Okay, Acorn,” Jared’s voice says as his lagging camera feed follows. “Give me the details.”

“Jared, look, this has been a really long day and I would rather—I just mean—are you sure we can’t talk about this later?” Evan tries to let an acceptable amount of passive aggressiveness lace his tone.

“Come on,” Jared pleads. “I’m invested in this now and I want to know how your cringey dinner went.”

Evan can tell Jared isn’t about to let this conversation slide until tomorrow so he silently resigns to the call but allows himself the inward solace of running his hands tiredly down his face as he internally screams. “Fine, well-“ Evan recounts the majority of the awkward dinner to Jared uninterrupted. He falters a litter after describing Zoe’s argument knowing what’s about to come next, but admits to the story he fabricated about going to the orchard with Connor.

“EVAN! I TOLD YOU NOT TO MAKE SHIT UP!”

“It’s n-not like I meant to!” Evan tries to defend himself slightly frustrated, “I honestly don’t know where it came from its like I just, just-”

Jared cuts him off. “You know they’re gonna think you’re lovers?”

“What? No they won’t-“

“Suuuuure.” Jared draws the statement out. Thankfully he mostly moves on from the joke much to Evan’s relief. “So you told them you were secret boyf,” Jared fakes a cough, “I mean best friends and then…”

“Then Zoe wanted to know why we, uh, why we never talked to each other at school. So I told them that we wrote to each other. Like, more than just this letter. But I guess his dad like checked all his messages including his e-mails so I had to tell them that I wrote e-mails to Connor using an address they didn’t know about. I told them I could bring more of our letters to each other.”

“A ‘secret’ e-mail account?” Jared repeats unbelievingly. “You wouldn’t admit to being secret boyfriends, but you would admit to a smexy secret e-mail account?”

Evan doesn’t respond.

“Fine,” Jared huffs when he’s given up on his friend humoring him. “So what are you going to do?”

“What?” Evan says, a little surprised.

“About the e-mails. You said you’re going to bring them more so, you know, like, how are you planning on doing that?”

A pause. Then Evan can feel the blood drain from his face.

_Oh my god, he’s right what was I thinking? I told them I would bring them more letters, but that means showing them the e-mail account! I can’t do that!_

“…I, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Evan manages to say hoping that Jared can’t tell that he’s having an internal crisis. Jared smirks a little raising an eyebrow at Evan’s words, and Evan realizes that Jared definitely can tell.

“You forgot you’d have to make the letters look like they came from the e-mail account, didn’t you?” Jared says with amusement.

Evan can’t take it. “YES, OKAY!” He blurts out confessing his mistake as the rest of his worries that have been welling up follow. The words come rushed, too fast to stop them and now he can’t shut up for the second time tonight. “I did which is so stupid and I should have just kept my mouth shut but now I’m screwed even though I was just trying to help-“

“Whoa, Evan, calm down.” Jared stops his rambling. “I mean, you definitely didn’t think this thing through, and honestly it’s funny how bad you are at this but… I can help.”

“What?” Evan is taken aback.

“I can do e-mails. I know enough to that I could make it look like you and Connor were talking this summer. I’ll just have to backdate each e-mail you write out. It’ll be easy.”

“Really? You would help?” He questions incredulously.

“You’ll owe me.”

“Um…” That sounds broad enough to make Evan worry. It’s not like he can afford to pay Jared and if Jared just decides to keep a general favor on the books it might end up leaving Evan to have to agree to do something potentially uncomfortable, mortifying, or illegal.

“Yeesh, don’t think so hard about it.” Jared breaks into his runaway thoughts. “I’m just messing with you. Seriously, I’ll do it.”

“O-okay.” Evan agrees wondering when the other boy will rescind his offer with another joke. He pushes any more thoughts of Jared messing with him aside and instead asks hesitantly, “Then can you meet me on Sunday?”

“I’ll meet you at your place at noon.”

“Thank you, Jared.”

“Whatever, Acorn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. You guys have no idea how much your hits, kudos, and comments mean to me. So legit you all, yes you reading this right now, are the best :’)
> 
> Comment, Kudo.


	8. Nothing Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is dead on top of being antisocial, so talking to people is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is murderous right now, but I needed to write so I did. Thanks for sticking with my crazy schedule :’) Also look at me not posting at two in the morning, lol.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of suicide and specifically some intense self-depreciating thoughts relating to suicide.

 

Connor feels his apprehension rise as he walks down an empty street towards the park, the tip tops of the large trees already in view from a block away. He’d followed Hansen home realizing he would need a plan to figure out how Evan was going to write the letters to his family. After overhearing Kleinman and Hansen’s conversation, he conveniently had at least part of the pieces in place to make his plan work, but Connor still had some questions that he needed answered. And he could only think of one person who might be able to help.

_This is dumb. She might not even be here._

He’s been avoiding the prospect of looking for Diane all week. When she’d offered to her company his first night here, he never would have imagined taking her up on her offer. It’s not like Connor has a lot of social experience and even if he did, he hardly pictures that casually striking up a conversation about being dead with a complete stranger is going to be comfortable. But Connor knows he needs to ask her about this. He also dreads the answers she might give him.

He takes a step up the high suburban curb and onto the green grass of the park he’d found himself in only a few days ago. The park isn’t that far from Connor’s home, and it is the same one his mother would bring him and Zoe when they were still small enough to have only childish fights over getting to sit in the best swing. Despite the surrounding affluent neighborhoods, the park is outdated—the same swing sets and jungle gym that Connor remembers still stand over a foundation of woodchips.

Connor walks past the children’s playsets towards the familiar benches that line a running trail partially circling a small valley spotted with massive trees. Diane sits relaxed, eyes closed, with her back to the same huge beech tree.

“Hey,” Connor says for lack of anything else to say. He knew this conversation would be awkward and he is hardly one to bother with the nuisances that come with being polite or with possessing any kind of social skills.

Diane jumps at his voice, clearly not expecting the interruption.

She quickly looks up to Connor processing the moment of confusion at the sudden intrusion. In the small moment it takes Diane to recognize Connor, he grows even more uncomfortable.

_This was stupid. I should just go._

He doesn’t know what he expected to happen, but the moment of stunned silence is enough to convince Connor that he should have just forgotten about the nagging questions haunting the back of his mind, that he should still forget about it and beat a hasty retreat.

“Connor,” Diane breathes out with a smile at the recognition. “So you came back to repay me for scaring you,” she teases in a motherly tone.

“You didn’t scare me,” Connor scowls.

“Well, you scared me.” Connor doesn’t apologize, but Diane doesn’t actually look bothered.

“You said I could come back to ask you any questions about, uh, this whole being dead thing.” He decides diving in is the best way to start the conversation.

“Oh.” She seems surprised Connor took up her offer but she doesn’t miss a beat to hospitably offer her time. She looks up to Connor and pats the ground next to her under the massive tree, an invitation to fully join the conversation. Connor drops to a knee where he was standing leaving some space between himself and Diane.

After Connor has managed to awkwardly fold his too long legs into sitting down crisscross, Diane continues. “So what do you want to ask?”

“Can you… talk? Like, to living people. Is it normal to be able to communicate with people who are still alive?”

“Usually,” Diane starts slowly. “Most people in our situation can still be heard by the living if we are trying to actively communicate with them. It’s not the same as holding a full conversation with someone, or even really being heard as if you were speaking, but people seem to understand what I’m trying to tell them even if they don’t know where the thought comes from.”

“And you can communicate with any living person that way?” Connor presses, feeling a little urgent.

“I… I think there are some people who are better at hearing, if that makes sense. Like there are just some people who are more sensitive to the world around them,” she explains. “Or maybe they’re just less distracted by the busyness of life around them,” she adds wryly.

“I don’t really know how that works,” Diane continues, “but I also tend to communicate better with someone I knew in life compared to a stranger I’d never met. For the people who were used to listening to me, I think my words must still be important to them even now that I’m gone. In my experience, the only people who seem to really be able to understand everything I say are my family.”

By the end of her explanation, Connor feels numb.

 _But they can’t hear me._  Diane's explanation has only confirmed what he suspected.

“I didn’t know anyone could hear me,” he says out loud.

“What?” Diane asks sounding a little surprised.

“I didn’t know,” he repeats. “I’ve tried talking, but they couldn’t hear me so I just… I didn’t know.”

Diane must realize what he is trying to say because she rushes to reassure him. “It happens. Sometimes certain people just don’t seem to be able to hear us. I realized I could talk to people pretty quickly when I got here, but there were still plenty of people who couldn’t hear me at first.”

“No,” he says angrily. He looks down to hide his eyes. “That isn’t it. You said the people who can hear you best are your family, but I talked to mine for a week without a word, without a single reaction. I didn’t even know anyone could hear me because of it.”

His voice has grown to a shout, but the next words are said almost too softly. “I don’t know why I’m really surprised though. They never listened to me when I was alive so why would they be able to hear me now,” Connor says bitterly.

“That may not be true,” Diane tries to reason comfortingly. Her voice sounds concerned, but she didn’t shy way at his outburst and now she tries to catch his gaze. “I don’t know what happened to you so that you’re here right now but…” Diane notices as Connor tenses, and her words trail off in realization that she has stumbled onto a touchy subject.

_She probably thought I was some poor kid in a tragic accident._

Connor fully turns his already downturned face away, trying not to let his conflicting emotions display across his face. The anger at himself and his family. The deeper hurt that he has no right to feel.

Diane is trying to backtrack, “That doesn’t matter. I just meant that they may still be distracted right now given the circumstances. Maybe they will be able to hear you after things calm down.”

_Well I wasn’t in some kid in a tragic accident. I’m here right now because I was fucked up enough that I killed myself._

Connor stands suddenly. “Probably not,” he replies to Diane’s reassurances. They probably won’t ever be able to hear him directly. “And how I died, it does matter.”

His family never listened to him, and still can’t hear him now because he was too fucked up to be worth listening to. _I’m dead for the same reason they can’t hear me._ Nothing about Connor has changed.

And that’s the why he needs someone to tell them. That’s the reason he needs Evan. With the letters, he might finally be able to be heard even though he is still a mess.

Vaguely he can hear Diane moving to rise to her feet.

“Thanks,” Connor says and walks away before she has the chance to try to catch up to him.

Diane doesn’t try to stop him, but she calls out to his retreating figure. “Things can change,” Diane insists. She adds more softly so that Connor nearly can’t hear, “They did for me. Just… wait and see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, Kudo, follow me on the internet cesspool—whatever you want. Thanks for reading, and I hope you all are doing well because I really appreciate you all <3
> 
> Also… the letters are next so you know what means… alsflasf ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	9. Loveliest Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just the nerdy friendship we all wish could have existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dropping this chapter and then retreating back to the dark recesses of end of the semester course work.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: References to suicide and anxiety. Also some compensatory fluff.

 

Connor watches as Evan’s face scrunches in concentration. The expression catches Connor’s eye and he realizes that Evan has made this face more than once. It’s a face he uses whenever he’s writing one his letters (the real letters) to himself.

Connor has just walked into the Hansen living room from the door and he quickly decides that he’s not above snooping.

He crosses the room to the couch where Evan sits and takes a peak at the letter he expects Evan is currently working on. He reads over the few lines visible at the top of the page under the familiar heading that reads **Dear Evan Hansen**.

**I can do this. I can totally do this. I’m just trying to help. And I’m already committed so it’s not like I can back out now…**

**Holy shit, what was I thinking?! I can't do this!**

_Evan is surprisingly more honest with himself when he is writing to himself._

The front door suddenly swings open. Evan fumbles in panic, quickly hitting save before exiting out of the unfinished document and standing to close the door behind the entering figure.

“Okay, so how do you want to do this?” Jared asks as he walks in through the front door without bothering to knock. He plops down on the couch in the living room and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table settling into a slouched position with exaggerated movements. Kleinman’s boisterous existence rings through the otherwise quiet Hansen home despite it being Sunday afternoon.

 _Evan’s mom is gone again_ , Connor passingly notices. _I guess hospitals can’t shut down for the weekend though._

Evan’s brow is furrowed as approaches the couch laptop in hand though Connor can’t tell if the response is to Jared’s question or just his general antics. Evan gently nudges Jared’s feet off the table forcing the other boy to sit up as he set the computer down and opens blank word document, cursor blinking.

Evan sits down slowly, leaving a comfortable space between himself and Jared. “I, uh, I don’t exactly have a real plan. We should just make it look like Connor and I sent e-mails to each other. S-so I guess I should just write, like, you know, about things that friends normally would just casually talk about.” Evan frowns as he ends his rambling likely thinking the task would probably be much harder than he’d just made it sound.

Connor’s pretty sure that whatever Hansen and Kleinman write about, it can’t seem any more unlikely than the e-mails existing in the first place.

“I was never exactly an expert at socializing so anything you two come up with can’t be any worse than my actual attempts to talk to anyone.” Connor says aloud.

Evan’s frown smooths a little at the words, but he makes no other response to having heard Connor.

“Well,” chimes Jared’s voice. “Let just get started and we’ll see how it goes. Your first _secret_ e-mail.”Jared places emphasis on the word as pulls the laptop onto his knees and starts to type.

Connor moves around to one corner of the couch leaning over to read the words being typed onto the page.

**Dear Evan Hansen,**

**We’ve been way too out of touch. Things have been crazy, and it sucks that we don’t talk that much**.

 _Oh, well okay. That could have been worse._ Connor was a little impressed. So far that didn’t sound too out of character for him—distanced, to the point. _Maybe these two idiots can pull this off._

Evan has leaned closer to Jared, reading over his shoulder as the sounds of furious typing continue.

“Jared! What the hell!” Evan’s voice draws Connor’s attention back to the fake letter.

**But I should tell you that I think of you each night. I rub my nipples and start moaning with delight.**

Kleinman cackles.

“Why would you write that!?” Evan persists. He yanks the laptop away from Jared’s clutches and protectively tilts it away from the other boy.

“Come on, I’m just being realistic,” Jared responds still laughing.

_Nope, this is never going to work._

“Jared, come on. You have to take this seriously! Is this just some big joke to you?” Evan tries to reason.

“Evan, the love one man feels for another is no joking matter,” Jared quips back.

Evan looks a little like he wishes he had the guts to get frustrated with Jared but he resigns himself to a defeated plea instead. “P-please, really, can we just… try to do this right?”

Unlike Evan, Connor does have the guts to be beyond frustrated at the never-ending source of unwanted, sexual humor. But unlike Evan he can’t do anything about it. He resigns to kicking at Jared’s propped up feet uselessly in frustration. “God, Kleinman. Just go home. I didn’t agree to you being a part of this plan, and we don’t need you anyway.” If the idiot is going to be like this, Evan can just look up some sketchy online tutorial to forge the e-mail account.

Jared’s eyebrows suddenly draw together as he comes out of his fit of laughter, but he quickly replaces the odd look with his signature smirk.

"Okay, okay, calm down, don’t freak out.” Jared replies to Evan tactfully.

“I’m not freaking out.” Jared shoots Evan an unimpressed skeptical look, eyebrows raised at the other boy’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw.

“Suuure. Well, come on then, let’s finish this letter.”

“You’ve barely started,” Connor grits out as Jared reaches over to grab the computer back from Evan. Evan shifts it away out of Jared’s reach quickly.

“I’m not sure I can trust you with this,” Evan mumbles.

“Oh well if you’re the fake e-mail correspondence expert be my guest.”

“Fine, I will.”

Evan readjusts the laptop even in front of him, balancing it as stably as possible on his awkwardly tucked knees. Connor stretches over the back of the couch to see if Evan is managing to be more productive than Jared at writing.

It takes several attempts and plenty of detours courtesy of Jared, but they all finally manage to get through Connor’s first letter to Evan.

Jared stretches as Evan studiously scans over the letter for any errors. Not that any typos would raise suspicion. Spelling was not Connor’s strong suite. He may have loved reading, but his writing was notoriously plagued with spellings too obscure for the rescue of autocorrect.

Jared reaches towards the laptop with grabby fingers. “Well this has been fun but let’s copy and paste this bad boy into an e-mail, and then I can get working with my computer mojo.”

Evan whips the laptop away.

“We can’t just write one e-mail.”

     “-What?” Connor looks to a flustered Evan.

          “-What?” Jared echoes, pulling his hands back from the computer.

“Well, we can’t- I mean-” Evan suddenly gets that self-doubting look like he already expects Jared to walk out of the room, but he tries to steady himself. “Wouldn’t it be more convincing if we wrote a few more letters?”

Connor mulls Evans words over. “Actually, that’s a good idea.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want. It’s not a big deal,” Jared chimes in.

Evan relaxes. “I know it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? Because you looked like you were about to start hyperventilating.”

“I wasn’t- I- I’m fine. No big deal,” Evan says flushing a little in embarrassment and sounding like he’s trying to convince himself of his own words.

“Deep breaths, Evan,” Jared. “You don’t want a repeat of-”

“I’m. Not. Hyperventilating.” Evan interrupts an edge to his voice under his embarrassment. He instantly looks guilty and turns back to Jared.

“I’m sorry, can we just-”

“Dude, chill.” Jared doesn’t look bothered in the slightest. “What’s next, then?”

“You should write a letter to me.” Connor tries to get Evan’s attention and redirect the conversation.

Evan readjust the computer to type the familiar greeting matching his other letters.

**Dear Connor Murphy,**

“Well, let’s write a response. We have one from Connor, so we should have another from me.” Evan keeps typing.

**Yes, I also miss our talks. Stop doing drugs, just try to take deep breaths and go on walks.**

     “-Umm…” Connor starts trying to think of a convincing way to make Evan’s words start to sound realistic.

          “No.” Jared deadpans at the same time, but he makes no move to fix Evan's attempt at a response.

“Maybe we could just make something to sound more like an everyday conversation,” Evan tries.

“An everyday conversation with Connor Murphy?” Jared laughs a little and Connor can feel himself bristling. “Like, what would you two even talk about?”

Connor realizes not for the first time that he really doesn’t know Evan Hansen that well given the position they are currently in. And Connor has never been good with making friends, but he guesses you’re supposed to share interests, that kind of thing. Evan doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to enjoy most of Connor’s interests.

Mostly Connor enjoys reading. He actually used to hate reading, at least he hated the speed reading and simple books from elementary school. But Connor can remember being grounded a little later sometime during early grade school with nothing to do other than to pull a few books from the shelves lining his room. His mom had probably set up the shelves and their contents for decoration, but as Connor began to crack the spines of each book, he discovered stories within that he’d actually enjoyed reading.

At some point, he found a paper-thin retreat from reality behind each cover.

But Evan doesn’t seem to read that much. _What does Evan even like?_

“Trees,” Evan replies like it’s an obvious answer.

Jared bursts out laughing. “Of course you would.”

“I’m being serious,” Evan argues tapping out more words on the keyboard in front of him.

**I’m sending pictures of the most amazing trees.**

    “-I don’t think…” Connor begins.

          “- ~No~,” Jared sing songs.

**You’ll be obsessed with all my forest expertise.**

     “-No.” Connor finally has to concede.

          “-Absolutely not,” Kleinman is laughing again.

“Fine, you finish it then.” Evan hands the computer off to Jared who is still recovering from his most recent bout of giggles.

Jared rolls his eyes but takes the computer. “You’ve already ruined it, so it’s not like I can make it any sappier.”

**Dude, I’m proud of you. Just keep pushing through. You’ll turn it around, just wait and see.**

Connor thinks in this moment, as ridiculous as this it is, that maybe it would have been nice to have had a friend like Evan. Someone to talk with about his favorite books or to listen to him rant about Ayn Rand, or Henry David Thoreau, or some other over pretentious author. Even Evan has Jared to hang around even if the kid is an asshole.

But the words also make Connor think about how serious the reality of their situation is. Connor didn’t turn it around. And maybe that fact won’t be lost on his family.

Evan for whatever reason decided to lie to his parents and sister. Evan is lying, and Connor is using the same kid that decided to lie to his family in hopes of somehow fixing some of the pain that he’s caused them.

_I guess I’m lying too._

He’s struck by the truth of the statement all of sudden. It isn’t as if Connor has been ignorant of his own actions so far, but maybe finally writing some of the letters has emphasized the reality of his situation. Connor is lying about himself. He is lying about being able to have ever been friends with anyone. He is lying about being someone he hopes that his family might be able to understand. But maybe that’s what they need.

Connor looks over to Evan who is busy scowling because Jared tried to sign their last letter off with a heart. He hopes they’ve gotten this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate anyone following the story. I’ve really found that I love writing when I have a break, but I’ve also realized I’m terrible at taking breaks so thanks for stick with me, lol. Comment, Kudo, etc.
> 
> PS. Your author can't proofread so I'm still going through to fix goofs


	10. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murphy family fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone, Happy Holidays! You all are a gift :)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: References to suicide, verbal fighting, family drama.

 

_Evan should bring the letters tonight._ The thought tinged with doubt has plagued Connor for most of the day along with thinking about how his family may react to the first batch of letters. It leaves him on edge, staring up at the ceiling above his bed like he has been doing since Sunday afternoon.

Most of the letters aren’t even important-they’re the cover for the fact that Connor and Evan never even knew each other. These first letters are mostly filled with mundane details about their fake friendship, but Connor had been intentional in trying to make sure a few important messages to his family had been included.

_“My sister is as hot-headed as I am, and I hate how much we used to fight. I loved my parents, but it’s like they thought nothing I ever did was right.”_

Some of the words made it onto the digital pages of Evan’s pristine new email account, but it felt like a lot of the meaning behind what Evan and Jared were able to translate was completely different. A little difference in a few words, sometimes by just a few letters, shouldn’t feel like a massive difference in intention.

But the words written in Evan’s emails are enough to have left his head spinning since yesterday.

**I love my parents, but each day’s another fight.**

**~~My sister’s ho~~** …at least Evan had deleted that part.

His feelings towards his family were complicated. He couldn’t remember the last time he said “I love you” to any of them. So many days he had yelled “I hate you” instead, and some of the time he meant it. He missed when Zoe understood. He missed when he still believed his parents might be wrong about him.

These thoughts race through Connor’s mind as he waits, every opening of the front door bringing a welcomed distraction and a new anticipation through his worries.

Finally the door opens and the polite voice that his mother reserves for company can be heard greeting a guest that he assumes must be Evan Hansen.

Connor hops off of his bed and runs down the stairs. He stops on the last step coming down the stairway where he can his mom in the foyer speaking with Evan who stands in the open doorway.

“Please come in, Evan,” his mom insists.

“Oh, I, just came- I mean I just thought I should stop by-,” Evan fumbles to remove his backpack from his shoulders, “-to give you the, um, well you know, and then I can leave. I don’t need to stay.” He pulls a folder from the bag and gestures with it a little wildly, “I just mean I wouldn’t want to…”

“Evan, you’re freaking out,” Connor says.

Connor watches as Evan looks up to his mom, probably just wishing he could shove the rumpled folder into her hands and leave as quickly as possible. But Connor notices the slightly confused expression his mother is hiding under the polite smile plastered to her face.

“Look, she can’t understand you like this,” he directs his words back to Evan. “Just calm down then you can offer her the letters.”

“I mean,” Evan sheepishly shuffles into the house gaze lowering to the folder, “I brought you all some more of Connor’s- of our letters.”

“Oh!” Connor’s mother looks ecstatic. “Larry!” she calls out then turns back to the nervous boy in front of her. “Thank you, Evan! Please come in and sit down!” Connor follows as his mother obliviously leads a very uncomfortable Evan into the living room before he has the chance to decline.

As his father enters the room, his mom turns back to Evan who offers the now slightly smoothed out folder containing the letters. She gently takes the folder from Evan and motions her husband to sit down on the couch with her.

Connor stands near Evan waiting a few awkward feet away from the couple, as they rile through the contents of the folder.

“These were just a few of the e-mails I found and thought you might want,” Evan speaks up after a few minutes of allowing Connor’s parents to read a few of the pages.

“Well, these are- it’s hard read these.” His mom looks from the page to Evan.

“It doesn’t sound that much like Connor,” Larry says.

Connor can feel himself stiffen, and a quick glance over at Evan reveals the usually fidgeting boy has also frozen.

“I just can’t remember the last time he would have sounded this happy,” his mom explains.

Connor relaxes and out of the corner of his eye he can see Evan has resumed picking at his cast. “Like he could have laughed...”

Larry picks up another page staying silent, but Connor can see his jaw working. “You said these are just some of your e-mails. That you have some more?” His mom asks sounding hopeful.

“Ye-yeah. I have more.” Evan manages to reply.

“Well, these are wonderful. You should bring as many as you can.”

His mom offers Evan a grateful smile. Larry remains quiet.

Connor startles noticing Zoe walking into the living room. The large instrument case holding her base sits propped near the base of the stairs, her entrance into the house apparently having gone unnoticed. She stops short upon entering the room taking stock of Evan and the mess of papers surrounding her parents on the couch.

“What’s going on?” Zoe questions accusingly.

“God, why are you always so confrontational?” Connor bites back.

Connor’s question goes unanswered while his mother addresses Zoe. “Evan brought some of Connor’s letters.” Zoe eyes Evan with distrust.

“Anyway, how was school? You had rehearsal today, right?” His mother poorly attempts to engage his sister.

Connor does his best to tune out their conversation preparing for the impending blow out that is eminent anytime he is mentioned around Zoe. “This is probably your cue to leave, Hansen.” Connor says shortly in Evan’s direction. Maybe his tone is a little too harsh, but his sister’s attitude already has Connor on edge and really Evan should be grateful since Connor is sparing him from witnessing the brewing fight.

“I should probably get going,” Evan pipes up noticing the rising the tension in the room.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner?” his mother offers.

“No, I can’t sorry. My mom and I are supposed to have dinner together since she isn’t working tonight.”

“Wow, Hansen. That almost sounded like the truth,” Connor says.

Larry, who has been quiet up to this point stands. “I’ll show you out, Evan.”

Evan nods gratefully and squeaks out a small thank you before following Larry to the door.

Zoe also turns to head upstairs, but their mother catches her before she can make her escape. Connor debates taking his sister’s lead and leaving while he still can. “So, I asked-“

“-Look, we don’t need to do this,” Zoe huffs.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. You really don’t need to act like a total bitch right now.” Even dead it appears Connor never fails to instigate a fight. At least now his temper can’t make things worse since no one can hear him to respond.

“Zoe, I was only asking-” their mother doesn’t have the chance to get another word in.

“No!” Zoe is full out yelling now. “You weren’t only asking about school or band or whatever! You’re asking about Connor!”

“Look, we don’t have to talk about anything.” Their mom tries to deescalate the conversation. “I know we are all dealing with this situation differently.”

“That’s the point! You and dad don’t need to pretend that everything is fine now that Connor isn’t here! I’m not going to pretend like everything is suddenly okay because it’s not like it ever fucking was!”

“God, Zoe. What do you even fucking want from me? I’m sorry things could never be normal with me! I’m sorry that apparently even being gone isn’t enough to make anything better! I know that though so at least I’m willing to try this-“ he gestures off in the direction of the letters, “-if it means I could do anything to makes things better! But I can’t even do that if you won’t talk about shit!”

Connor is glad his sister can’t respond to his yelling, but he wishes that there was some way she would be able to get the point that he is trying to help her now.

“I know you miss him,” his mother says gently.

“I don’t miss him!” Zoe asserts.

The statement hangs stagnant in the air of the living room, everyone including Zoe too stunned at the words to respond. Connor feels a lot like he just got punched.

“It’s not like I’m surprised,” Connor retorts rawly. Any anger behind his earlier words is slowing draining leaving behind only Connor’s injured pride. Because he really isn’t surprised even if the truth still hurts. “I’ve been watching you for days and you haven’t even cried.”

Zoe winces. “Why would I? I don’t miss him picking fights, yelling across the table. I don’t miss him throwing shit or beating on my door. I don’t miss him yelling that he was going to kill me. You’re the one that doesn’t want to talk about that part of Connor.”

His mom looks away. She takes a deep and shuttering breath, and steadies herself before speaking again. “And there were also other parts of Connor.”

Zoe shakes her head a little but doesn’t rise to renew the argument. “Can I ...go?” She sounds miserable.

Their mother doesn’t answer Zoe right away, but instead moves over to the coffee table in the center of the living room and she picks up one of the stacks of papers on it. Raising her head, she looks Zoe in the eyes and holds out the letters.

“You should read these, when you’re ready.”

Zoe stares back remaining still.

“Zoe,” Connor gulps, “please.”

Zoe takes the letters and without another word walks out the room.

Connor feels exhausted.

He watches as his mother sinks onto the couch where she was sitting earlier. “You head all of that,” she says out to the room, a statement not a question.

Larry walks around the corner towards his wife and stands across the coffee table. He doesn’t say anything, but Connor’s father has always been a man of few words.

Talking about feelings and emotions was not something Connor ever associated with his father. He was the type of person to focus on tangible actions and results, and to Larry Murphy that was the way his world worked.

“I wish I knew what to do,” his mother explains, “if I could make this easier on her.”

“We are here for her even if she isn’t ready yet. We’ve done all that we can. We did for both of them,” he answers.

Connor clenches his fists, a spark of fresh anger alighting despite his recent burnout. “Do you really believe that?” Connor asks from behind him.

“She needs to talk about it, but right now…” his mother trails off. It is obvious to all of them that right now Zoe can’t or won’t talk about Connor. “You need to talk about this too,” she tries to suggest.

Larry keeps his mouth closed without a response, the familiar muscle in his jaw working.

“Fine, but you know where to find me,” she ends the conversation.

His mother stands and gathers the e-mails she hadn’t handed to Zoe. Connor follows her out of the living room, up the stairs, and through his familiar doorway.

She lays out the e-mails on the foot of the bed keeping the top one off the pile in her hands, and crawls on top of the plush comforter to lean against pillows at the headboard.

Connor moves his back towards the nearest wall facing the bed and slides down it into a crouch. He lowers his head to his knees simply sitting there with him mom as she reads through the letters.

He is mad at himself for already trying to yell at Zoe today. He thinks about his sister and Larry, wondering if this whole stunt with Evan will be for nothing. He thought maybe they would all be able to hear him, but…

Maybe Zoe or Larry will never understand. Maybe his mother would have tried her best without the letters. But for right now, he strains to listen to the small huffs of laughter that come from his mother and takes solace in every happy sound she makes.

It isn't until much later that Connor hears Larry pad up the stairs, each creak of the steps easily distinguished in the quiet house. Connor lifts his head to see his father standing at the threshold of the room.

“It’s late,” he says.

“Would you sit down? Read a few more of these with me?” His mother pats a spot beside her on the bed lightly. “This is the closest I’ve come to hearing Connor in a long time,” she mumbles tiredly.

“Cynthia, I…”

“You can’t either,” Connor finishes the sentence for him.

Larry runs his hand over his face. “Let’s go to bed, and try to get some rest. This whole mess will be waiting for us in the morning.” He motions to the rest of the pages haphazardly spread over the tabletop.

_Maybe that’s all this is to him. A mess to clean up._

She sighs, defeated. “Go ahead,” she answers making no move to follow him.

His father leaves, steps fading out into the hallway and down the stairs. His mother stays late into the night on Connor’s bed pouring over the letters until Connor thinks she must have read each one several times. She falls asleep sometime after midnight surrounded by words he hopes can afford her some small comfort in the midst of this evening’s chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for every comment and kudo! Feel free to leave more!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Always feel free to mention mistakes or suggestions.
> 
> Also you can hit me up on Tumblr @in-libris-libertas


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